


once more with feeling

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: EXILE (Japan Band), Exile the Second
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Marriage, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Other, Rimming, Wedding Night, gender neutral reader, i didn't pick any gender for the reader and left it detail-less do what you want with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: being married in the first place was never on your list of life accomplishments or expectations but nesmith came along and gave you reason to consider something different. showing him gratitude in the form of making the wedding night all about him is the least you can do in the grand scheme of things.





	once more with feeling

**Author's Note:**

> a happy birthday to the lovely karim ryuta nesmith of exile the second, the best vocalist in ldh by far and one of the most beautiful, funniest, gentlest and most loving men there is in music. everything about him is so unique and his voice stands out in a company full of truly great singers. his smile lights up the entire world and i am absolutely blessed to have been able to listen to him sing so much. here's to hoping that solo comes through.

The hotel room is a welcome peace after the energy of the reception, the combination of chatter, dancing, and music so much to take in when the entire day still feels like a fairytale instead of a day in your life. That you had been planning this day alongside your new husband for months does nothing to make it feel more real or solid, a fantasy come to life that hardly seems like it could have happened to you in the first place. But as the door of the room closes behind the two of you, leaving you in just the quiet with the soft dim lighting and the faint floral scent in the air, Nesmith’s hand in yours brings you back down to earth in the best way.

You had been dating him for years now, spent another year or so engaged, and then finally sealed the deal on the wedding today. It feels unreal that the most beautiful man in the world is standing beside you right now, his hand warm in yours, fingers twined with yours, but nothing can take away the magic of the moment, the softness of his smile as he raises his eyes to meet yours. The warm rich brown you’ve grown to love so much and associate with him and only him seems to soothe the residual frantic energy still lying in your bones.

People and parties have never been your forte so today was an exercise in breaking your own boundaries to make today special for him. Weddings matter less to you than they do to him; the marriage certificate itself is a symbol more than anything else and nothing could ever come close to physically displaying how much you love him. But he’d been talking about it for so long that you decided it was well worth sitting down with him to plan everything, to cement your love for him in front of family, blood and found alike, and friends. Standing across from him at the altar only proved just how valuable a choice it was, how easy it should have always been.

Nesmith raises your hand to his lips, eyes glittering as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, ever the prince even though the excitement rolling off of him gives him a different aura entirely. “Thank you,” he says, and his voice arrows through your heart, the gratitude making everything in your torso contract. “That was… I can’t explain how special that was to me.”

“Yeah.” It’s the best you can manage for a moment around the tightness in your throat. It always does things to you to see him happy, to be able to give him what he’d wanted so much growing up even if it’s little things like this. “I’m happy. I didn’t think much about marriage but it’s  _ you. _ ”

Maybe you lack eloquence with your words, but it’s okay because Nesmith’s eyes are glittering as he steps closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body through the suit he wore. It’s white, a beautiful contrast against his warm brown skin and he looks so gorgeous in it that it takes your breath away still even though you’d seen him in it all day. Instinct guides your hands up, reaching for his hair, snapping elastic between your fingers so his braids fall down his back and around his face.

His smile softens as he presses his forehead against yours and you should be used to this by now, you think, or at least be prepared for it. But you never are, not with this man. It’s not possible to be prepared for someone like him. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to slip into the shower real quick. You can join me if you want.”

The offer is tantalizing but you have plans for tonight and so you plant your hands on his shoulders to anchor yourself. Getting carried off with fantasy isn’t going to make your plans come to fruition, after all. “I’ll grab one after you. I’ve got… Just go shower.”

“Scheming.” Nesmith knows you better than anyone, stealing a quick kiss that threatens to knock the air out of your lungs before he backs up, shedding his jacket as he goes. “I’ll try to give you enough time to do whatever it is that you plan on doing.”

“Fifteen minutes,” you say, holding up your hands even though fifteen and ten are wildly different numbers. You’re a little frazzled, watching his fingers move to the buttons on the vest, undoing them so deftly. It should be  _ your _ hands but it’s fine, it can wait.

Nesmith raises an eyebrow at you. “Why not do what you need to do and then join me?”

“That could work.” That’s going to be a disaster and you might not leave the shower until the water runs cold enough to give you hypothermia. “Anyway, enjoy your shower.”

The vest comes off and his hands start on the shirt. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grants you mercy and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before the shirt comes off, and you sigh in relief, sagging just a little at the space. Then you have to mobilize. The idea of hauling luggage here after the ceremony and reception seemed ridiculous so you checked in early this morning— which let you store your little secrets for tonight away from Nesmith’s prying gaze, a surprise for him. He deserves all of the nice things in the world and though you might not be a romantic at heart, not like he is, you’ve learned there are little things that make him smile and those little things are so simple.

The suite is larger than you planned for but you have enough candles to really make it work, carefully lighting all of them with the candle lighter you bought just for this task, not confident you wouldn’t burn yourself with a cheap gas station lighter. The scents of rose and lavender waft into the air; it’s intensified a moment later when you pull out the box of flower petals, a large one because better safe than sorry. The majority of them are left on the floor, a few scattered here and there but a very vivid path leading straight to the bed from the bathroom door.

A few are tossed on the mattress and you maybe swoon, just a little, at the thought of Nesmith’s skin warm and flushed from the bath and scented with flowers. It’s a bit much.

It’s when you store everything back in its drawer that your eyes focus on the gold band around your finger. You never even  _ liked _ jewelry that wasn’t gaudy or horrible in some way or another, something that was meant to be purposefully eye-catching and a little bit ugly even, but this is so subtle and strange and new. Like Nesmith, it slipped into your life unexpectedly.

“Stop being a sentimental dipshit.” You splay your hand over your face, taking a few deep breaths. It’s not even like this is the first time you’ve had sex but it’s more meaningful now, the last celebration of your love for each other on your special day. Or something. “How long has it even been? Oh fuck, I didn’t even think to check the time.”

Whatever, you finished decorating the room for Nesmith anyway and the candles probably won’t light the room on fire in your absence, so you slip into the bathroom with him, the steam clouding your vision and making everything seem soft and hazy. His clothes are in a pile on the floor and you add yours to the pile, stepping over them carefully and opening the shower curtain. Though you made basically no noise coming in, he must have been waiting for you from the way he turns to look back at you, eyebrows raised, a smile on his lips.

He’s so gorgeous. You really hit the jackpot with this.

He’s also put his hair back up. “Oh I didn’t even think about you showering with it down.”

“It’s fine. I know you like playing with it.” Nesmith steps aside so you can join him in the shower, and it’s more than big enough for two people. “You can after the shower if you want.”

“Oh I’m going to if you’re offering.” There’s at least one bonus of him having his braids twisted up on top of his head; you can frame his face in your hands so easily.

Nesmith presses his cheek against the palm of your hand and the rest of the world kind of fades away for a little bit the way it did when you kissed him at the altar, making the applause when you broke the kiss seem that much louder when it only seemed like faint white static at first. You’d never been good at tunnel vision, not that kind of hyperfocus at least but when it comes to him everything else ceases to exist while the world closes around his beautiful smile, his warm eyes, the way he looks at you like he’s never looked at anyone else before.

His lips are warm under yours, soft full lips moving against yours with such skill that it makes you feel like you’ve never kissed anyone before and you should just give into the pull. Instead, you turn your head just so, tongue slipping between his lips and he makes a small noise that you lick out of his mouth, the taste a heady flavor on your tongue. Everything about Nesmith is all-encompassing so that you don’t realize the shower water is starting to sting your back until he backs up to take a breath, eyes heavily lidded.

“You like hot showers, huh?” you say, trying to play off the fact you might just have a slight burn afterward, not wanting him to worry about it.

“Yeah. Here, hold on.” Nesmith leans past you to turn the temperature down to a more bearable heat but having his wet body pressed up against yours is detrimental for any level of thinking you might have hoped to achieve. He’s perfect but the base part of your brain can only focus on how his slick skin feels sliding against yours, so pleasantly warm.

Sharing a shower was a bad idea. You’re not going to be able to leave now.

“Come here.” Your arms cinch around his waist quickly, keeping him in place, your chin coming to rest on top of his shoulder. “Oh, that’s nice. You’re so much better than the water.”

Nesmith laughs softly, an arm across your back, the other curling around your shoulders. “You’re so cute when you’re like this, you know. Even if you get mad every time I tell you.”

“You’re going to ruin my cool mystique calling me things like  _ cute _ but I guess I’ll let you get away with it since we’re married now.” That still feels weird to say, but that’s probably expected. It felt weird to say  _ engaged _ even yesterday when you still were, and had been.

“I promise not to say it in front of anyone and you can continue being my strong, handsome spouse who can sweep me off of my feet.” Even the  _ mention _ that you can, in fact, pick him up makes you smile a little against his bare skin. After all, you hadn’t actually worked on your arms for any other reason other than being able to pick him up and carry him around.

It’s  _ worth _ it, though, when you’re married to someone like Nesmith.

The shower cuddling does end up coming to an end when you realize the heat might be getting to you a little bit, but you still don’t rush the shower. It’s too tempting to help Nesmith wash up after all, hands sliding over his warm skin slick with soap, a memory to be sure. Even though, in an effort to wipe some stray water droplets making your face itch, you accidentally lick soap off of your hand and end up almost gagging at the taste. Nesmith giggles at you and the sound almost brings you to your knees. If you never get used to Nesmith, you might not live through the wedding night at this rate. But again, it’ll be so worth it.

Everything is worth it for him.

By the time the two of you get towelled off enough that you won’t soak the sheets on the bed and make this experience a bad one, though, you feel a little more confident in yourself. Just being around him in a more natural setting takes some of the edge off the whole thing, and when he dips his head toward you for you to take his hair back down again, it feels like you’re just back at home having a normal evening.

Which makes his face when he sees the bedroom— thankfully not on  _ fire _ — for the first time all the better, wide eyes and parted lips, a little soundless gasp leaving his throat as he comes to a stop just inside the room. You can’t help but preen a little, knowing you’re the only person who can make him look like this, trip him up like this with romantic moments and sentiments that you’ve learned by his side.

“Do you like it?” you can’t help but ask. “I really thought you’d love it. It’s very you.”

“Yeah. It’s  _ beautiful. _ You did this for me? Baby…” Nesmith trails off, then smiles so wide it feels like the sun just burst through the ceiling, momentarily blinding you. “You’re the  _ best.” _

“No,” you say, an automatic reaction, and Nesmith laughs and kisses you before you can argue.

He always cheats at debates anyway.

Nesmith walks straight to the bed, walking alongside the pathway of petals like he can’t bear to mess up your hard work even though you laid them down specifically for him and no one else. You do the same even though you definitely do not have to, watching him pull himself up on the bed, all warm bare skin against the creams and whites of the bedspread and vaguely you wonder if the universe has conspired against you to give you the beautiful contrast. Nesmith rests his head on the pillows and smiles at you, holding out his hands though you find yourself wavering, not quite sure, too lost in just looking at him.

“I’m lonely up here on my own, you know,” he says, and your brain threatens to fizzle, circuits overloading and threatening to short out. “Come up here with me. I want you.”

“Oh.” Hard to argue with that. You take Nesmith’s hands and climb up onto the bed beside him.

The moment he moves to sit up, though, your hand moves before your brain can fully compute the movement, fingers pressing his shoulder back into the mattress. He blinks up at you, dark eyes threatening to swallow you whole, lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Just— Just lie there.” The rest of your plan could hardly be laid out beforehand and had to be kept until he was on the bed, looking so relaxed and ready at the same time. “I want you to let me take care of you tonight. Because this entire thing meant so much to you.”

“I can do that, baby.” Nesmith is so good at keeping his composure but there’s no ignoring how hard he swallows, tongue dragging over his lips, threatening to send you into cardiac arrest. Your heart skips a few beats and that’s dangerous, probably. You might die from that.

There are little things that could kill you just as surely as the big things could, is the thing. The way Nesmith shifts his thighs apart when you move between them, the open invitation, the way he reaches up to touch you when you’re still trying to make sure you can balance above him on the sheets on nothing but your hands. If they were silk or satin, probably not, but it’s just plain cotton and so you manage to stabilize yourself the moment his hands touch your arms, the touch of his warm skin so intoxicating all on its own.

Nesmith is beautiful. You definitely owe the universe something for this match.

Careful not to tangle your hands in his hair and risk pulling it, you lean down to kiss him, his lips soft and pliant against yours, moving against yours with such tenderness that your hands dig into the sheets with the sudden and unavoidable desire to do whatever it takes to  _ protect _ this man. He’s so warm and gentle and soft in your arms that you can’t imagine doing anything less than this, anything less than taking care of him.

It’s a thing, maybe, but still.

You catch his lower lip between both of yours, teeth dragging over it just barely, just to hear the sharp way his breath catches at the touch. He’s a vocalist first and foremost but he’s also a performer and even his tongue moves in slow and sinuous movements against yours, but he never makes a bid to try to take control of the kiss. Content to lie here and let you do the work just like you asked him to, he only uses his hands, one slipping up into your hair and the other running down your bare back. It’s still a little overwhelming being in bed with him.

Having the patience for this is something you thought you might not have but it feels perfectly natural when the kisses venture away from his lips to his jaw and down to his throat. It’s only there that you feel comfortable using teeth at all, pressing them into his skin hard enough to leave marks that will be all too visible in the morning. If anyone is surprised, well, what did they think the two of you would be getting up to tonight anyway? Nesmith doesn’t seem to mind; his hand tightens in your hair and it  _ stings _ but not in a bad way, his neck arching up against your mouth in a silent plea for  _ more _ , and  _ yes. _

You shift to rest on a forearm so you can use your other hand, fingers wandering over the smooth planes of his body. He isn’t as cut into hard, defined lines like some of the other guys in LDH but that’s better to you, the subtle interplay of lean muscle and soft skin, the surprise when his muscles flex and tighten under your lips and tongue and fingers. It’s mesmerizing, the way his chest shifts when he breathes. It fits him as a person, and he’s beautiful no matter what to you.

“You good?” you ask, pressing a kiss to his stomach. You’re hovering right above his cock now and you know he knows it, but it’s kind of fun to tease.

Nesmith makes a small noise down at you and leans up so he can look at you, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “Yeah, I’m good.” His hips shift and your hands move to keep them still. “Baby, please,” he says, and his voice is huskier, throatier, “can you just—”

You pretend to think about it. “I can probably arrange that,” you decide.

The thing is, your gag reflex is shit. You’ve never been able to blow him the way anyone else probably could, not in the  _ proper _ way at least, but you’ve got ways around that. The bag you’d stashed under the edge of the bed is right where you left it and if he looks a little amused at just how far you went to put everything into careful places, well, he’s the one who married you.

Lubricant takes a minute to warm up so you rub it between your fingers until it’s just right, then wrap your hand around his shaft. He’s hard, flushed dark and there’s already a familiar smear of white over the head of his cock. The most you can take into your mouth on any given day is just a few inches but it’s enough to roll your tongue around the tip of his cock, the salty and slightly bitter taste of pre-come on your tongue a familiar flavor. Nesmith moans, his head falling back against the pillows, arms splayed out. He looks like an angel, and it’s  _ unfair. _

Your hand does what your mouth can’t, fingers tight around his cock, stroking him slow and easy in time with the way you curl your tongue around him. If it bothers him, he says nothing beyond the litany of soft moans and sighs, the way his hips roll under you occasionally, carefully not trying to thrust up into your mouth because he knows your gag reflex is just as bad as you know it to be. Considerate even when he’s in pleasure, thoughtful even when it should be hard for him to think at all.

At the very least, you’ve mastered breathing through your nose, learned to match your fingers to your mouth so that Nesmith’s moans become deeper, louder and more pronounced in the quiet of the bedroom, his thighs trembling when you run your unoccupied hand up one. The muscles in his thighs are gorgeous to you, the evidence of hard work and effort, hard under your touch but still soft enough that there’s some give, enough that you’ve left a bite mark or two on them. Kenchi saw one during practice just once and you’ve  _ never _ been able to live that down.

“Baby, baby, wait.” Nesmith’s hand is in your hair and you stop, though you don’t take your mouth off of him, just raising your eyebrows. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ You slowly take your mouth off of him, trying to downplay the way your face flushes at his words. You maybe got a little wrapped up in it and didn’t even notice, but it’s impossible to miss the way he’s twitching in your hand or just how heavy the taste of pre-come is on your tongue now. “Right, right. Do you think you can… Roll over for me?”

Nesmith takes a slow, deep breath that brings his chest up beautifully. “Yeah,” he says. “Just have mercy or I’m going to die.”

The words have you snorting, but you nod. “Got it, right. Hand me one of those pillows, too.”

Now this, you’re almost an expert at. Nesmith passes you one of the pillows and moves as you told him to, trusting you to know how to settle the pillow beneath his hips at just the right angle. Maybe it’s a little immature to be this excited about eating a man out, but the fact is that you’ve always been pretty good at this, and it’s easily one of your favorite things to do, and there have been men who never would have guessed they liked it only to be unravelled a moment later.

It doesn’t hurt that Nesmith has a nice ass, all that dance practice paying off in more ways than one. It’s so easy to just plant a kiss right on one cheek, grinning when you can feel him giggle.

Nesmith has a nice ass and he’s responsive, and it would be fun even if he wasn’t already worked up. But there’s still an ego boost to be had when you spread his cheeks open and slick one hot stripe between them, over his hole, just to hear him moan, to feel him jump in response. It’s a fun warm-up, a little game to play to get him wound up more, licking over and around, teasing his rim but not quite ever pressing your tongue inside. The muscles twitch at the stimulation and Nesmith makes choked little noises. It’s when they edge toward desperate that you finally relent, pressing your tongue inside of him in one fluid motion, opening him so easily.

It’s a testament to how often you’ve done this for him that he opens so easily, that he’s so receptive to being touched. Nesmith moans long and loud, this thighs twitching as you lick inside of him. He’s hot inside, and smooth and it’s so easy to lick so deep into him your face is pressed against his skin, trying to get as close as possible, as deep as possible. Nesmith only arches his hips up toward your mouth and you can’t help a little noise at the reaction.

“Sometimes I think you enjoy this more than I do,” he says, his voice quivering.

You don’t have an answer for that because it’s probably most definitely the truth.

Still, it’s good. It’s good to listen to Nesmith’s moans and soft whimpers, the occasional little cry mixed in there when you drag your tongue out of him and over his rim before pushing it back in. When you’ve done as much as you can with just that, you slip a finger inside of him, still slick with lube, opening him just a little wider, and that lets you hit him deeper, lick further inside of him. Nesmith squirms and then cries out, loud and sudden, when you curl your finger against his prostate and do nothing but press just to let him feel it.

You know Nesmith’s limits and what he can take, can pick up the little noises of frustration that tell you all you need to know about how one finger isn’t doing enough for him anymore. So you fold in a second one, massaging over his prostate light and easy, not wanting to over-stimulate him and make this less enjoyable for him. The slow and deep moan that works its way up from his chest makes your gut clench; you’re just glad you can do this for him.

Two fingers gives way to three and you shift a hand under him, wrapping your other hand around his cock, the dual sensation enough to make his hips buck and his thighs shake. It’s kind of difficult to have three fingers and your tongue inside of someone, and you might end up tasting more lube than you absolutely intend to, but it’s not kind that tastes bad and Nesmith’s breathy cries and moans are well worth it. The way he thrusts into your hand and down against the pillow is an experience in and of itself, watching his hands fist in the bedsheets.

It doesn’t take long for him to come like this and when he does it’s with another of those throaty, husky cries that makes your entire body jump in response. Your hand moves over the head of his cock to minimize the mess, wet heat against your fingers while you slowly, oh so lowly, pull your fingers out of him one by one and lean away from his body. Not far, though.

Nesmith falls down against the mattress, laughing softly. “That was… Intense.”

“Yeah? In a good way?” You look at the mess on your hand and ignore the offended noise he makes when you lick your hand, raising an eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve come in my mouth before so this should hardly be that much of a surprise for you.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Nesmith curls his face against the crook of an elbow and you snicker at him, sliding off of the bed to make a grab for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

It takes a few to wipe off your hand and a handful to get him properly cleaned up. The pillow has to go on the floor but that’s fine as room service will probably, easily be able to figure out why the room with the newlyweds might have sullied a pillow. It’s better than ruining an entire bedsheet, at least.

“You want—” Nesmith starts but you throw your hands up.

“In a bit, maybe.” The thrill of getting him off, of touching every inch of his body, was first and foremost on your mind and everything else can wait until he has a chance to recover, or even until tomorrow night. You aren’t picky about things like this and have never been.

It’s always been about him. That might sound corny, but it’s true. It’s not a matter of ignoring your own needs in favor of his but about just making sure he has everything he could ever want and more, of making him feel as cherished as he should always feel, of showing him how much you love him with actions because words can never quite bring it full circle about just how much you love him. And you might honestly get more from being able to get him off than you do from getting off yourself at this point. You have friends who’d tease about it, but it’s just the truth.

“All right. Come here, then.” Nesmith pats the mattress next to him and you hop up there, sliding down to lay next to him, running your hand down the side of his face. The way he nuzzles into your touch makes your heart ache a little in only the best way. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It had been a battle to ever get the words out in the first place and now they come so easily, so effortlessly. All for him and because of him.

Nesmith curls an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer, resting his head on top of your chest, eyelids heavy, breathing slow and easy. Your hand rubs up and down his back soothingly and you rest your cheek against the top of his head, happy to have him close, happy to have him warm and content and curled up at your side with the knowledge he wants to be here just as much as you want him here.

The matching band on his finger, glowing so warm in the candlelight, is proof.


End file.
